So who else remembers those halcyon days of yore, when summer was a season that meant more than just changing the clocks? You'd be sitting in a classroom somewhere, a freshly signed yearbook in one hand and a frosty Tab in the other, just waiting for that one final bell to ring in three long months of sweet, magical freedom. As a warning to some of the younger kids in the crowd, once you pick up that final diploma, summer switches from sweet to sweat and from magic to mosquitoes and mowers, and it suddenly becomes just another ninety days you've got to drag your tired ass out of bed and go to work. Only it's hotter. There's no snow, though. Anyway, what do I get this year? One week, people. One lousy, frigging week. And how did I spend this summer vacation? I moved. Yep, that's right. My one Sunday off, and I spent it in a U-Haul. Woo. Hoo. So now here I sit, wedged between a stack of boxes on one side and my disassembled entertainment center on the other -- with no phone, no internet, and no cable, no less -- recapping this episode on a borrowed tape in a barely connected VCR. Eddie Cochran don't lie, folks. There really ain't no cure for the summertime blues.
All this is by way of saying (a) Sorry the recap is so late, and (b) I may be in a slightly snarkier mood than normal this week. Truth be told, I kinda dig the show. If they let someone besides Ball direct (and no, Kathy Bates doesn't count), it's actually got a lot of potential. So, if I may be permitted to quote Demian out of context, "All these quotes taken out of context make me look like a total bitch. Oh, wait. I am." Amen, brother.
Previously on Six Feet Under: ha! There are no "previously"s. I can't believe you people fell for that. There are, however, the longest. Credits. Ever. In fact, they may still be playing in a few western time zones. And just getting started again in the east. Alan Ball's tombstone listing was sort of amusing, but I'd already gone out and seen Pearl Harbor twice by the time it came up, so I wasn't really in the mood to laugh. Also, what's up with the guy's rose fetish? At this point, I was seriously worried about having to spend the next thirteen weeks with this show, because there's nothing I hate more than a writer who keeps recycling the same old tired literary devices from one project to the next.
Alan Ball: And you never called security on any of these freaks?
David Chase: Yeah, you try getting those idiots out of the Real Sex studios. It ain't easy. Plus, Arli$$ attracts way more nutjobs than we do.